Free Crucible by S. G. MacLean Page A

clambered over trellises and up the wall behind us, to spill out over the bounds of the manse as if seeking their freedom, and the rays of the sun fell upon a granite dial, the craftsmanship and precision of which Dr Dun took great pride in. Carmichael stopped to admire the piece. He ran his hand over its contours, its edges and grooves. He walked around it, admiring and inspecting its various faces, examining it so closely he might have been trying to measure its angles by his eye alone. ‘The complexity is astonishing,’ he said at last, ‘the execution perfect.’
    ‘I have often admired it,’ I said, ‘but in truth, I am a poor judge of its function; I know only that it is a thing of great beauty.’
    ‘Beauty, yes,’ he murmured, ‘but beauty without function is an empty thing. The man who conceived and executed this was a master of his craft.’
    ‘Are you a student of sundials?’ I asked.
    He shook his head. ‘No, but my father was a stonemason. His was workmanship of good quality, but he never produced anything like this. This is the work of a mathematician, a true architect.’
    His words recalled me to the reason I had brought him here in the first place.
    ‘An architect,’ I echoed. ‘Like Vitruvius.’
    He took his eyes from the dial and looked at me, a little puzzled. ‘Vitruvius? Yes, perhaps so.’
    ‘Tell me, Andrew, do you teach the works of Vitruvius here?’
    He breathed out heavily and came to sit beside me. ‘A little; I teach his theories: his concept of the architect, of his place at the apogee of all the crafts, of the skills required of him, but as to the architecture itself …’
    ‘And John Innes? Does he also teach Vitruvius to his students?’
    Carmichael frowned. ‘I do not think so. John has the second class. He is too busy trying to impress upon them some semblance of knowledge of Latin and Greek. Why? What is your interest?’
    I had come this far, it would have done more to prick Andrew Carmichael’s interest should I retreat from the matter now than if I told him all that I knew.
    ‘My interest is in why John should have taken the time, on Saturday morning, to go down to the New Town and consult the works of a long-dead Roman architect in the library of the Marischal College, and never to mention to me having done so. He had been in our library on Saturday morning, but did not say a word about it down at the Links in the afternoon, when we were talking about Robert and the new books that had arrived.’
    Carmichael frowned. ‘You are right, he did not. It is strange – I have never known John Innes to dissemble, nor come anything close to it. But, you know, he is not well just now, Alexander. He has not been right since we heard of the death of Robert Sim.’
    ‘Robert’s death. That is what I need to talk to you about, for it seems to have sent John into a terror, to have driven him half-mad almost. I knew they were friendly enough together, and God knows, Robert’s death is a hellish thing, but I did not know them to be close, or to have particular connections to one another.’ I did not know how to say it. ‘Had Robert – had Robert been visiting John here of late?’
    I saw a wave of stunned comprehension pass over Carmichael’s face, followed by disgust. ‘You are asking me if there was some unnatural relation between them? My God, Alexander, I thought you were John’s friend.’
    I lowered my voice. ‘I am, and that is why I can ask you such a question, for I believe you are too. I must know why John has got himself in such a state.’
    ‘It is not over the murder of a lover, I can assure you of that. The only times I ever saw Robert Sim here it was in our own library, or at graduation feasts and the like when the student was known to him. I do not know that I ever even saw him in private conversation with John.’
    ‘And what of John? Has he behaved differently at all of late, in the last six months perhaps?’
    Carmichael plucked at some lavender